Issues & Addictions
by HoookahBird
Summary: We all have something that takes away the pain. /Trigger warning
1. Prologue

AN:_ Hello readers! My first story upload, so I hope you guys like it o/v/o_

_And ahhh, yes, pairing is JohnKat, even though most of the beginning will be - wait that's my crazy inner spoiler fangirl who wants to blab the whole story to you right now! Must go put her back in the closet... about the pairings, you'll see soon enough. Hehehe *wink* *wink*_

_Aaaaaanway, sorry for taking a few moments of your time with my note._

_Onto the story~~_

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

John was running.

His feet hit the ground in a nearly melodic beat as he raced through a field, like a metronome, a steady thump thump thump. The sky was bright, an almost opalescent blue, too colourful to be real, and it hurt his eyes to look directly at it. Lights shimmered and glared off his thick glasses, coming from what he guessed was a sun. In the sunlight, everything seemed almost too bright to see, too… dream-like. A thought passed through his head, _where am I_, but he pushed it away, because, did it really matter? Laughter bubbled up from his chest, and he let it out, laughing at his trying own common sense, laughing at trying to figure out where he was. He didn't need to. He knew he was safe. His fingertips brushed along the tips of the grass, releasing little bursts of that fresh-cut lawn smell and tiny flurries of puffy seeds. He smiled, breathed the field in, and kept running.

It wasn't long until he began to question why he was running in the first place. After all, he didn't feel fear – scratch that; more like mindless freaking terror – like he did in most of his dreams – really more like nightmares – that usually ended up being about the terrifying Sburb session. John didn't know why, but he felt like he was playing … a game. A real game. A happy game. Not one of the murderous plays that made up Sburb. He felt as though he was waiting, not in fear, but in joyful anticipation for whoever was chasing him to catch up.

Which, really, didn't take long.

A warm pair of arms wrapped around John's torso and pulled him down into the grass, surprising John so much he started to giggle madly, like he always did when he was startled. The giggling was cut off as the stranger placed a light kiss on the tip of his nose before they gently meshed their lips with John's own. John felt a surge of passion and warmth flow through his body. He quickly gave into the kiss, and in a heat of the moment gesture, wrapped his arms around the mysterious kisser, running his pale fingers through the stranger's short, messy hair. The stranger returned the gesture with one of their own, a hand trailing electric touches down John's arm, causing him to shiver with pleasure. He parted his lips an agonizingly tiny amount, teasing the other. A tongue slowly explored his mouth, as if those few inches of space were all the room in the world, and they wanted every bit for themselves. They were so good at this, and it was making John only want more from where ever this was coming from. Things began to feel light, as if they were flying, and John wondered if this was what being high really felt like; if so, he wouldn't mind feeling so with this person, so… indescribable . It was a feeling as if the only thing that anchored him to the ground was the stranger who he was lip-locked with, wreathed in each other's scent and arms wrapped around each other.

John realized that despite the bright light streaming from the sky, he had not glimpsed the stranger's face. Normally, when John was sure he had a lick of sense in his skull, he would be terrified by this fact, kissing someone who he was sure he didn't even know; but now, in this state of euphoria, he didn't mind at all. Not one bit. In fact, he rather liked it. He liked it a lot.

They pulled away from each other, only a moment to catch their breath, panting slightly from the long kiss. Neither said a word, and John moved his hand along the contours of face of the mystery before him. He still couldn't tell who the face belonged to, but he had stopped caring what seemed like ages ago. They pressed themselves together again, bodies perfectly moulded against one another, lips meeting once again to resume where they had left off. The only thing John was sure of was that _this wasn't Dave_.

Wait.

_This wasn't Dave_. Not in any way. No way in his wildest dreams – he guessed that this was one of them – could Dave make him feel this way; like he was loved, needed, wanted. Never.

Tingling brushes on his skin brought John back to what was going on. A bare hand had slid up his shirt and was now rubbing slow circles on his back, calming him from what had made him tense up in the first place. Both the stranger and John where practically moaning into each other's mouths and feeling those three little words begin to bubble up and fill his senses, and however true and important they may have been, John panicked. He tried to push away from the mysterious person who had laid claim to his body and feelings in a dream, but their arms on and around his back kept him firmly in place. They got back to kissing. All John knew was that somehow, things were both right and wrong at the same time. He felt – no, he KNEW – that this stranger was the one who he wanted to be with, who could make him feel loved. But he already had Dave, in his real life, which he knew he was soon going to wake up to.

He panicked again, for a different reason. He didn't want to leave, to go back to his normal life now that he had found this unknown amount of pleasure in his dreams.

The stranger's motions became more and more hurried, as though trying to beat a clock, or maybe just time itself. John felt a wet, coppery taste invade his senses and came to notice that the mysterious one, who had so few moments ago been so gentle, had nipped his lip. Nails were beginning to score his skin, until they finally dug in in a final embrace of pure longing. At that time, John screamed, knowing that this pain was one of ecstasy and not hurt, and tried to pull the stranger closer to him, only wanting them to be together now.

And that's right about when the sky came falling in.

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><p>AN: <em>Hehehehe, I'm baaaaaaaaaack! I will upload official Chapter 1 once I get a chance, which will be hopefully be really really really soon. I'm just dying to get this story going!<em>

_If you will, click that button down there and tell me what you think?_

_Toodles til' next time~~~_

_SS_


	2. The Morning After

_A/N: This chapter has been rewritten as of April 16th, so I advise you to read it again! Thank you and onto the story!_

_Disclaimer: I own no rights to the characters of Homestuck and make no profit from this work. I only claim ownership and responsibility of my plot._

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><p><em>The Morning After<em>

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><p>John woke up and hit the floor. His breathing was fast and shallow, but every breath felt heavy, like he had just run a marathon, not slept for however long the night was. His whole body hurt, especially his back. He blinked a few times, slowly at first, then speeding up as he became a bit more conscious of what was going on. John took a few calming breaths, and his heart stopped pounding in his ears. The feeling that his chest was about to burst ebbed off a bit, and his breathing slowed down. Bits and pieces of his dream still whirled in loops in his head, but he couldn't quite remember what it was or what had been happening to get him so riled up. All he got back was a feeling of longing, of being safe, and … happiness. Strange.<p>

He shivered. He wasn't wearing a shirt, which wasn't all that weird for a teenager, but as soon as he spotted his white tee on the floor, he pulled it on. The air had been chilling him to the bone, and while the shirt did little to help keep him from freezing, it did make him feel a little bit more normal. But only a little bit.

Looking up from the floor, John also realized that he didn't know the room he woke up in.

_Oh shit._

John tucked he knees up under his chin and hugged his shins, and realized he wasn't wearing pants. Or … _Oh_. In fact, before he had put his shirt on, he hadn't been wearing anything.

_Shit shit shit shit shit …_

His last strands of calm snapped. His heart started thudding louder and louder, like it had when he woke up. His brain pounded along, causing him to reach up and rub his temple with a free hand to try to alleviate his sudden headache. He kept his other arm slung around his shins, making himself as small as possible, almost like a child trying to shrink themselves until they just disappeared into thin air. John actually sort of wanted this to happen, or this whole situation to be one big dream. A big, stupid, crazy dream that he would wake up from, hopefully, really soon. He pinched his arm, then his cheek, but no sudden flash of waking up. Nothing. This was real life, and with that, John began hyperventilating, officially in silent freak out mode.

Ok, so he didn't find it normal that he woke up naked, in a room he didn't recognize, with practically no recollection of last night. And he was scared.

He glanced around the room. No kidnapping supplies, but what would that look like anyway? No torture devices, so he hadn't been picked up by some pedophile or a weird fetishist. Or a serial killer, waiting in the shadows, planning to kill him any minute – wait, stop. Don't freak out any more than you already are. Ok, no obviously bad objects, but that didn't mean he was safe and didn't still solve the nagging question of where the hell he was.

A flash of grey and red in the background led his eyes to a set of turntables. A vague thought stirred in his head. Something about … hmmm. He couldn't quite remember. _Deja vu, I just know I've seen this…_

_Dave?_

John nodded mechanically, to himself. After all, there was no doubt in his mind that this answer was wrong. He stood slowly, then turned around even slower, his eyelids squeezed shut. His eyes blinked open. He gasped when he saw the sight in front of him, and then collapsed, knees hitting the floor and most of his upper body landing on the edge of the bed. He cradled his head between his pale arms, almost to the level of heaving he was so freaked out. A few dry sobs racked his body, and he couldn't bear to look up.

Dave was there.

And so were the rest of his clothes.

Last night came rushing back, and it hurt. A lot.

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><p>In a flash of colours and lights, he saw snatches of last night flooding past his eyes. Dave and him were going to a party, and both of them got high on accident. Or maybe it was on purpose, he couldn't tell either way. <em>Wow<em>, looking at himself while he was high was actually a lot less cool than he thought. The memories mostly consisted of them laughing at how things looked way more colourful and staring at lights with dilated pupils. Sometime later, getting even higher, this time on sopor. Bad idea, but that hadn't mattered. A lot of making out. Driving around downtown, while still flying high. Even more making out. Walking through Dave's living room, still stoned out of their minds. Making out on the couch. And then … _Oh god_, him saying he was ready. _Ready for what?_ Dave smirking, his hands running down …

_Oh my god._

He didn't want to think about it, but knew exactly what they had been talking about, and it make his spine run cold. Every nerve in his body suddenly fired on high-alert and his brain surged with adrenaline.

The next images he shut his eyes to, but it didn't stop the sensations in his body.

Cold apartment air on his bare skin. Hands on his back. Sudden pain as if his skin was being torn. Skin-on-skin contact. A burning feeling, like his stomach was on fire. Lying next to a familiar body, sweaty and promising that things would be ok. That everything was going to be fine.

_OH MY GOD._

He had said he was ready, and there was no going back.

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><p>Dave woke up, pressed up against a pile of clothes that smelled like his boyfriend. However, said boyfriend wasn't next to him, but he could see the teen's head and arms on the side of the bed. After setting his shades straight on his face, he reached over and tapped him on the head. John didn't respond. Dave just heard a few more sobs before John moved off the bed and instead opted to sit with his back leaning on the bed frame. More sobs.<p>

Even though he had been high, Dave entirely remembered last night, and smirked. He had taken advantage of the moment when John had finally said he was ready for "that" to happen. And with them both totally on for it, and John looking all cute and sincere, how could he not have taken the moment?

Soon, the smirk vanished. John wasn't taking that "morning after" feeling very well. Not very well at all. _Not cool, Dave_, he scolded himself. _Now you have to comfort him._ He wasn't very good at comforting.

Hauling himself out of the warm confines of the few rumpled sheets, Dave pulled himself over to the side of the bed John was leaning on. He didn't get off the mattress quite yet, rather deciding to lie on his stomach and do his best to calm the other teen down.

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><p>John still had his head between his hands when he felt a palm gently rest itself on his head and another on his shoulder. They lay there for a minute before making small attempts to ease his ache, rubbing small circles across his shoulders and gentle petting on his scalp. After a bit, he felt Dave just give up with that and wrapped his arms around his chest. But John couldn't bring himself to look at his boyfriend. So what if they had been dating for 4 months before this? So what? He had wanted to keep his freaking virginity for some special time for both of them, not waste it on a night when they were high! He felt so filthy, so disgusting. That wasn't how things were supposed to work, right? Everything was supposed to be right, not wrong. And right now, nothing felt nice or right, in any way. Everything just felt awful and painful and just … wrong. Sex was supposed to have been nice, a night he would remember as a wonderful pleasurable moment… then why didn't it feel that way? Why did it feel like where Dave touched him, he was tainted? Like he was covered in grime and sweat and just gross? A sharp pang shot up his spine, yes, his body definitely agreed that this was wrong wrong wrong and it <em>hurt<em>. It hurt and he felt filthy and he just wanted to go back and do it over, say no, say not now and go to bed. A quiet sigh that he had been holding back escaped his lips, and his whole body shuddered in a sob.

Tears started to run down his face again, making Dave sit down on the floor next to him and wipe the salty drops from his cheeks. The shades gave away no emotion what-so-ever, but John hoped that he felt bad for doing this to him. _Dave, why are you still wearing your fucking shades inside I kinda want to punch you in that stupid mouth of yours and your stupid fucking face and your stupid fucking brain for thinking it was a good idea to do this. _He hoped Dave knew it was his fault that he was sitting on the floor, a weeping mess. _Goddamn it kid, pull yourself together. I know you're upset and in pain, oh yes, that's painful, but shh, come on. You're completely embarrassing yourself…_

A roiling of misery in his stomach began, and grew worse and worse. It built below his ribs and grew upwards into his lungs and chest and he felt so sick and so filthy he just wanted to get out of here already… when the sloshing sick feeling didn't go away at all, it changed just a little. It felt like real vomit now, and he was going to hurl if he didn't get out of here right now.

_Oh, shit. Oh shit oh this is not good._

Shoving himself off the floor and past Dave's arm, John hurried to the bathroom where he forced everything out of his stomach.

Quietly, Dave padded from his room to the bathroom and leaned against the doorframe as he watched his boyfriend retch repeatedly into the toilet, his frame shaking violently.

When John finally wiped his mouth and flushed the toilet, he didn't want to face Dave. Not right now. Washing his hands and his mouth, he stood there, facing away from his boyfriend, shuddering with post-breakdown hiccups. He felt a pair of arms slip around his waist, pulling him against Dave's lean torso.

_No, don't touch me anymore, don't touch me, Dave._

Before long, Dave pulled his arms back, and instead pulled John close to him with an arm around his shoulders. Leading him as you would lead a frightened deer, Dave moved John back towards the matress. John didn't protest Dave putting him back onto the duvet before lying next to him. The Strider resumed his "calming" motions, rubbing John's shoulders, petting his hair, telling him it would be alright. None of this helped, John refused to let himself cry anymore and shook silently despite the warmth of the body next him.

John's whole world was coming down, and Dave couldn't do anything about it.


	3. Let's Play A Game

_AN: Another chapter VERY minimally changed (Almost nothing). I was originally going to completely change this and alter it, but I ended up keeping it. Not sure why, because I actually really don't like this chapter. I decided that it would change too much about the story and so I should just leave it, just try to tone it down later._

_The characters are disclaimed to Andrew Hussie. The plot remains mine._

_Trigger warnings of domestic violence and Stockholm's syndrome._

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><p><strong>Let's Play a Game<strong>

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><p>Again, John was running. But not for the same reason.<p>

Stumbling, his knees came down hard on the wood floor, issuing a grunt of pain from his mouth. That fall brought him down hard enough to bruise, he knew that much. But he would be able to play off a pair of bruised knees. If he really needed too, he would lie and come up with a cover story just to satiate everyone's need to know what happened.

Of course, he couldn't tell them the truth.

Returning to his feet as quickly as he could he could, John sprinted down the hall, half-assed terror giving him a burst of speed. He was far too terrified to try and glance over his shoulder. He knew who would be chasing him, closing the gap in between them faster than he could get away. And he couldn't do anything about the state they were in; except run, that is. Run as fast as he could. Anything to escape the rage and blood-lust that had consumed Dave. Right now, finding a hiding place would be his only hope.

Thankfully, the attempt at sprinting had gotten him around the corner and behind the bed. He knew Dave, or what was left of him, knew he was there, and would be there to shatter him soon enough. This temporary hiding place wouldn't last. But really all he could do for now was pray, pray to whatever was listening to help him, _please not let this spell last_ –

A fist lashed out and caught an unaware John directly in the left eye. The metal frame of his glasses bit into his nose and cheek, protecting the majority of his eye from the fist. The blow caused his vision to shake and blacken around the edges and sent his entire body sprawling to the floor. White-hot pain lanced through his skull as it took another beating from the wood planking below him, spears of ache rattling around his brain before somehow leaving his mouth as a weak whimper. He could already tell that the blow to his eye was swelling and going to leave some sort of bruise in the morning.

– _long_.

Yes, John knew it was easier to hide a bruised shin than it was to hide a black eye. This wasn't the first time that this had happened.

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><p>John knew it was wrong to stay with Dave, even when he used his strength to hurt him. But it wasn't his fault. It was Dave's Trickster side that caused him pain.<p>

After the Game, all of the other kids had been able to shrug off or get rid of their 'trickster' alter egos from the doomed time line; that is, everyone except Dave. His trickster-self had become another personality, a part of his mind; and, as it turned out, he came out surprisingly often. For most of the time, Dave was able to suppress Trickster's evil whispers and whining from the back of his head, all while keeping the ever-present poker face, but Trickster was able to overpower the cool façade when Dave was tired – or angry. Trickster was a part of Dave, always there to cause mayhem and pain.

Mostly to those Dave cared about.

And it was getting harder and harder to be able to tell Dave from Trickster.

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><p>Earlier, before this 'swap', everything had been just fine.<p>

Perfect even.

John had let Dave invite him over to his apartment; even though he had other things to do besides make-out and probably have sex, yet again, John had ended up agreeing to go though he didn't want to. He was mostly scared of what the blonde would do to him if he made any attempt at refusing to be with him. If he protested against spending any time with Dave, the cool-kid would probably accuse John of cheating on him and get violent. And nobody wanted that; besides, dealing with Trickster's almost daily beatings was enough.

More pain didn't get him anywhere.

From the moment he had walked into the dimly lit apartment, Dave had dominated every inch of space on John's entire body. Pinning him against the door, wrists held in a death-vise grip on either side of his head, the blonde had commandeered a nearly full-blown make-out session right there. John had tried his best to squirm and struggle his way away from Dave, but really accomplished nothing except for Dave applying more pressure to his wrists to keep him from running. Giving up, the heir had simply let Dave do what he wanted, and fell limply against the door. He still kissed back passionately, ignoring the fact that the grip on his wrists would discolour tomorrow; fear and love had entwined themselves into one sort of demented, screwed-up passion. Something still stirred in his heart when Dave looked at him, something he thought was love. He couldn't just leave that feeling; it would burn its way out of his chest and follow Dave if he left him, and take whatever charred remains of his heart with it. He trusted Dave with all his being, trusted him more than he trusted himself.

Releasing the force on the boy's wrists, Dave nuzzled his face into the crook of John's neck, whispering a husky hello to him. He pulled his face back to look in the blue that was his boyfriend's eyes; the blue that he could get lost in for hours on end. That deep cerulean held a few things: love, more love, and … a bit of fear. The red eyes behind the aviators narrowed slightly, before glazing over in lust for the boy in front of him. Oh, how much he wanted to rip the clothes off of him right now and take them both to the heights, but he held off. He had to be cool about it, not show exactly what he wanted; or exactly how much he wanted it.

The knight allowed for his palms to gently run off the wrists and up the boy's arms, stopping at his shoulders, teasing the sensitive skin there with a few gentle brushes of fingertips tracing over his collarbones before moving downwards to flatten over the lithe expanse of John's stomach. He laid a line of gentle kisses over the heir's jaw before whispering a few sweet nothings in his ear. John felt his knees grow weak and almost melted into Dave's touch. The hands had progressed slowly underneath the hem of the tee and were rubbing along his sides, yet there was little romance in his movements. Losing it completely, John practically collapsed onto Dave, letting him do whatever he wanted to him.

Eventually, Dave had moved them both to the couch, and was ravaging John's mouth and body, releasing waves of pleasure with every subtle touch he placed on the boy's skin. That is, until he let his hands rove to the waistband of the heir's jeans. When the boy felt a hand undoing the button at the top of his pants, he pushed himself away and sat up; he knew Dave had invited him over FOR sex, but that didn't mean he wanted any. He bit his lip and looked at his boyfriend's face, but not daring to make eye-contact through the sunglasses.

Stopping Dave; bad idea.

A look of fury passed over his features, contorting what had been love – lust – into anger and rage. He growled out a warning.

"What's wrong?"

Taking a shallow breath, he tried to speak, to respond, but nothing came out. He swallowed and almost choked. "N-Nothing's w-wrong…" John managed to eventually stutter out, shaking like a leaf in a hurricane, feeling like he was going to hurl from sheer panic. He could feel the bile rising in his stomach as his body fought to fight or flee, and there was no way he could fight.

A condescending smirk found its way to Dave's face. "Then you won't mind this." As he lunged forward, he forcibly pinned John underneath him and brought his face inches from John's. The look in the blue eyes wasn't any part love now; it was all fear. Maybe love was buried further down, but that could wait for later.

Later is always a good time for feelings.

Now is time for something else.

Underneath the adrenaline rush, John had begun formulating a small plan; so, it didn't make very much sense, and would probably not achieve anything except more pain in a minute, but it was his best option. He went limp for a moment, and feeling Dave's grip on his arms loosen, he pulled free from the blonde's clutches. "I-I should go n-now." He shook as he spoke, giving away just how terrified he was.

Before he could even make it a foot away from the couch, a pale hand grabbed him by the elbow, twisting his arm and sending fiery jolts of pain straight to his head; it yanked and he stumbled back, giving nothing but a muffled scream as the other arm reached up and covered his mouth, smothering him. His heart dropped to his shoes, then restarted and beat crazily when a new, smooth voice whispered harshly into his ear, breath tickling the side of his face.

"And now where do you think you're going?"

_Oh shit._

The voice continued on, chuckled mercilessly and said something that made his blood freeze solid.

"He he, we're going to play a little game …"

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><p>Still reeling from the blow to the side of his head, John didn't see the hand reach down and grab his collar. He felt it when he was yanked upward, nearly being strangled by his shirt. John felt himself start to choke out something along the lines of "Please, let me go," but was cut off by a maniacal laugh from Dave. Tears sprung into the corners of his eyes and leaked down his face, leaving trails of salt on his pale cheeks. He kept chanting a silent mantra of <em>please please please help me<em>, praying for God, or another savior, or anyone to protect him. _Save me please_.

Another crazy laugh cut through his mind. The other hand delighted itself and wrapped its way around John's neck, squeezing slightly. With his mind racing, John realized what was happening. His oxygen was being ever so slowly cut off, and the sensation caused a new rush of panic along with a coming numbness in his hands and feet. _So this is what dying feels like_. His only breath was fighting against the pressure on his neck, but he was losing the battle. The chill moved up his legs, reaching his knees; he struggled to loosen the grip on his throat with his half-limp arms, but it was no use. Black fog threatened at the edge of his consciousness. Even if he could breathe, get oxygen to his muscles, there was no way he could fight off Dave. He was too powerful, too strong, too … insane.

His vision blurred, hazing through both tears and lack of air. He couldn't help Dave; he deserved to die. He tried to smile, but he just couldn't; the blackness was beginning to flood his sight, he couldn't focus on the face before him, thought this was his ending, let himself go limp and stopped fighting the haze...

Just when John thought he would literally lose the game, the pressure on his neck was suddenly released. His entire body was thrown down and made contact with the hard floor, skidding a back a few inches before stopping. Fighting for a breath of air, John was reduced to choking and spluttering, trying in vain to not pass out.

A leg flew out of the nowhere that was the black around his vision, kicking him directly in the stomach and forcing whatever air he had managed to gulp down back out. He lay still, winded to the point of exhaustion, too tired to even try to defend himself against the onslaught of fists and feet suddenly flying in his direction.

He took the blows with a little more than whimpering. The emotions in his head raged back and forth, swinging like the pendulum of a clock; I deserve this, this is so wrong,_ I deserve this, this is so wrong_.

John felt himself roughly lifted from floor, this time by his arm. He hung loosely, too drained to do much more than gasp as crazed red eyes suddenly flooded his vision. He felt himself being kissed jaggedly, more than passion fuelling the hate burning in Dave's eyes. He was gone, and Trickster had come out to play.

"What, no more fight left? It isn't fun unless you struggle-"

The psycho's voice stopped. John had managed to wiggle his arm out of the iron fist, and flopped to the floor at Dave's feet. He lifted his head and pushed himself into a semi-kneeling position before grasping at the knight's legs. "Please," he begged, "stop. You're not yourself, Dave."

A slap across the face sent his glasses reeling and his face into the floor boards. Sobs racked his body as he cried in pain and hurt, and tears silently splashed from his cheeks into the cracks in the wood.

"Don't you DARE tell me to stop." Dave bent down and coarsely growled "You like this. You fucking bitch." He once again slapped John across the face. "You little whore."

John attempted to pull himself up again, but was sent back to the floor by a kick to the chest. He continued to plead to Dave, with no avail. His voice sank to a weak whisper. Another punch landed another pain he'd have to live with. A foot lashed out a kick at his gut, sending the air out of his lungs.

When a foot placed itself on his neck, John didn't do anything about it. He laid sprawled out on the floor, tears still silently cascading down his face. His eyes focused on nothing in particular, and glazed over as pressure was applied to his throat. It was already beginning to purple from the strangulation earlier. His vision blacked as he stopped getting oxygen, already weak from the multiple injuries he sustained. All John wanted to do was sleep, sleep and not wake up with a monster … or better yet, not wake up. He couldn't deal with the pain anymore. He hoped this time, Dave would just stop his breathing, get it over with.

The pressure was gone, but the dark tide closed over his eyes and mind. John went completely limp as he surrendered to the blackness and blacked out.

The last thing he heard was Dave cackling.

"HA HA HA! ISN'T THIS GAME FUN?!"


	4. A Day From Hell

_AN: So, here is the new version of this chapter, because going through it again, I realized that I wrote some things pretty darn badly. I was so naïve a year and a half ago…_

_-SS_

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><p><strong>A Day From Hell<strong>

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><p>Some days just suck.<p>

Some days are just sent from hell to make people's lives suck.

Karkat was having one of those days.

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><p>Arriving late to work with a blacked eye was not the best way to start a day, and it didn't help that his mood was already shitty.<p>

For the last three weeks, he had gotten less than three total hours of sleep a night; for the first time in what felt like forever, he had managed to knock himself out for more than a few hours, only to be plagued by the terrible nightmares that never really left him. Even after he woke up, he heard the voices and saw the gruesome images when he closed his eyes. When Karkat had woken up that Saturday morning, he had gotten a blinding eyeful of morning sunlight (courtesy of the open blinds), and swore his way to the bathroom to see that his entire left eye was swollen from the night before, and now bleeding slightly from the harsh light bath. Sollux's idea of a joke was pushing him down the stairs and into the railing on the landing of the apartment, and Karkat was just the most perfect person to prank at three AM in the morning. Reaching up to run a fingertip lightly around his eye, Karkat felt the pressure below the skin and the tenderness of the bruised flesh. The grey skin around his yellowed cornea was already beginning to swell and was going to be simply the best accessory; yeah, huge, bleeding, black eyes are so hot right now.

Stumbling into the respite-block, the Knight of the Most-Fucking-Useless-Element-Ever saw by the blinking clock that it was now somewhere close to nine in the morning. He had scored around five hours of unconsciousness and was now late for his shitty job at a café. _Nice going, Sollux, now I'm going to make you pay the whole rent for this shit-hole cos I'm definitely getting fired for this_.

Six hours later, one job somehow salvaged, dozens of daydreams he would prefer not to elaborate on, and about a dozen cups of coffee later, Karkat twisted his key into the doorjamb of the shared apartment and walked in on possibly the worst thing he could think of. Ok, the worst thing he could think of was The-Object-Of-Affection- Who-Shall-Remain-Nameless being brutally murdered. But clearly the next worst thing.

Sollux getting it on with yet ANOTHER fuck-buddy douchebag he picked up doing whatever the hell he does.

And this douchebag happened to be Dave Strider.

Who was supposed to be dating someone else. Someone who he preferred to refer to as Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.

The two fuck-buddies on the couch didn't even notice the intruder, just went on pounding their half-rotted brains out. Rather than flipping his shit immediately, Karkat just turned around, pressed his fingers into his eyes and counted to ten. He then proceeded to raise his voice above the moaning and the twisted sound of skin on skin.

"IF YOU GUYS SERIOUSLY DON'T GET UP AND GET OUT IN THE NEXT FIVE MINUTES, I AM GOING TO MURDER YOU BOTH WITH A RUSTY SPOON AND DO UNSPEAKABLE THINGS TO YOUR CORPSES!" Karkat was practically busting his chest open from screaming so loud.

The fuckers sure noticed that.

"GET SOME FUCKING CLOTHES ON. AND GET. THE FUCK. OUT." He didn't even bother with ultimatums anymore, or tried to spew out one of his long-ass metaphors, he just shouted.

Without looking back, Karkat walked back out the door, and slammed it shut behind his heel.

He ran down the stairs, only tripping twice, and burst out the front doors and into a sudden rainstorm. _Calm down, calm down, calm down_. He couldn't think straight. He just wanted to forget what he had just seen. So he did the only thing that he could; he ran.

He ran until the people passing by blurred into one sea of blank, until he couldn't feel his feet hit the pavement, until he couldn't hear the wind whistling past his ears or feel his jacket streaming out behind him or feel the splatter of rain drops on his face. He ran until he felt his lungs would burst, and flopped against a wet brick building. This was Gamzee's neighborhood, but Karkat wasn't looking for the parter of his ruined moirailligiance or his shitty, high, advice. All he wanted to do was be alone. He sat down in a dry alley way, his chest heaving and his eyes looking towards the rain drops smashing on ground a little ways away. His phone hummed in his pocket.

'_**ONE NEW MESSAGE'**_

'_**TWO NEW MESSAGES'**_

'_**THREE NEW MESSAGES'**_

'_**FOUR NE-'**_

**TA:** kk what the 2hiit wa2 that?

**TA:** dave2 wiith me iif you diidn't know

**TA:** he doe2nt like pii22y 2hort nub horned a22hole2 2o what the 2hiit ii2 your problem?

**TA:** you ju2t fucked over my relation2hiip

**TA:** ii hope you diie and ii hope you go back two hell

**TA: **better yet you can 2end your own fuckiing 2elf

**TA: **dave left and iim goiing after hiiim 2o dont expect me home

**TA:** you can be alone wiith the 2hiit you call a liife

Karkat stared blankly down at the rapidly flashing screen as Sollux sent message after message about how he wanted Karkat to die, to go to hell, to kill himself. Suddenly, his clinical depression decided to kick in and knock all his emotions into an unstable state and he found himself walking back in the direction of the apartment. Voices from his subconscious bickered behind his ears, cackling and whispering suggestions on what he should do;

"_Overdose on your sleeping pills!" I don't have sleeping pills, shut up._

"_Useless useless useless ahahaha!" Shut up!_

"_Drown yourself in the bathtub!" SHUT UP!_

"_Slit your wrists like the little mutant slut you are!" SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP_

The apartment was slowly getting closer, and the rain only came down harder. Karkat's shirt stuck to his skin, plastering itself to his chest like a second layer of epidermis. His hair dripped water and fell in his face. The world was just as grey and dreary as his mood.

* * *

><p>Entering the apartment, Karkat went to the nutrition-block and then straight to the bathroom, only one thing on his mind; getting rid of the voices in his head. He held in his hand the razor from the cabinet over the sink.<p>

He shut the door and flicked the lock shut, then slowly peeled back his wet, clingy sleeves, anger slowly building beneath his skin. The grey cover felt suddenly too tight, like it needed some … ventilation.

Karkat grabbed the razor off of the counter, looked at it for only a moment, and then placed next to his wrist, the old blade facing the skin. _It'd just take one little push, and it'd work. Do it!_ Shaking, he closed his eyes, imagining the bright red, how pretty it would look on the floor and anywhere but his body. _Come on you weakling! Do it!_ _You can cut yourself up, you'll be in control… DO IT! _Slowly, he pushed the razor down.

It slid through the grey, splitting the skin and the blood vessels underneath. The red welled up in the razor's wake, a small line of pierced skin. Karkat looked at it with fascination. It didn't hurt, it didn't. In fact, it felt rather… nice.

He was in control.

He could do this. The red would drip as he wanted it to, it was his choice, his ability.

Bringing the razor upwards, Karkat watched in a sort of all-consuming captivation as he pushed down again, the blade almost violently tearing through the thick grey skin, slicing open the blood vessels underneath, spilling their contents upwards and out the open wound.

He stood there, watching the bright red flow from his arm and spill slowly into the sink. He didn't feel the pain of the blade lodged in his arm, just the high he got from watching what damned him falling away from him, just falling and falling until he would be a drained-out, useless, empty skin, the perfect expression of what he was. Useless. A waste of space. The worst troll in the entire universe.

He grinned, his pointed teeth glistening. The smile wasn't happy. It was both sad and crazy at the same time, somehow conveying both all they hurt he held and how much he hated himself for it. It soon dropped, and he practically heard the shattering sound it made on the floor. He heard the voices coming back, slowly at first, then steadily growing louder and louder until they pounded in his eardrums.

_You're such a failure!_

_Is that all you can do to yourself, you pathetic waste of existence? You're not even worth my time! Just end it already! Take your puny worthless like and give it up! You're such a miserable sad sack all the time, no one wants to be around you, and no one ever will._

_You just bring people down! They're wasting their time with you! No one really cares about you, Karkat!_

Every word melted into Dave's voice, laughing and jeering at him that he would never be worth anything, no one would ever care about him, nothing would ever make anyone want him. He was useless, and he was just ruining everything by still being here.

All the insults Dave had called him were raining down upon his ears, bursting in to the cacophonous mixture of voices screeching and pointing poisonous words at him. Karkat felt blades sink into his brain and heart and press their points down into his shoulders and legs; the only place left for him to press his own knife was across his wrist.

And so he did.

The blade flashed again and again, tearing open his skin and slashing holes in the grey façade. He didn't focus on how many times he needed to do this to make that voice go away; he only focused on the red that splattered onto the countertop, the mirror, the floor, his hand, that lovely razor blade. The mutant red pain that would drive away the hurt he felt.

* * *

><p>Seven gashes later, Karkat fell to the tile floor and into the splatters of his crimson blood. The angry, red lines from the razor blade covered his wrist and arm, crisscrossing and zigzagging their way up to his elbow. Many had stopped bleeding, but the deeper cuts oozed the candy red blood down his arm. He was disgusted.<p>

_Attention, you're only doing this for attention_, came Dave's monotone croon before, finally, falling silent.

That horrible voice … was gone. Karkat breathed a small sigh of relief.

Gripping the edge of the counter in his good hand, Karkat pulled himself out of the little puddles and shakily stood up. He had to lean on the counter for support, and his vision fuzzed around the edges. His entire body shook violently as though he was freezing to death. Catching his reflection in the mirror, Karkat almost couldn't believe what had happened to him.

He was splattered with his own red, droplets clinging to his face and neck as well as his shirt and hair. His arms looked like they had been sent through some sort of horror show, covered in candy-bright gore. The mirror itself was sprayed with drops of blood, and he reached out to touch the glass. The hand dripped and oozed with the sticky mess he had let out of his arm, and when his fingers finally met with the cold reflective surface, he was about ready to heave with repulsion for the liquid. Karkat leaned gently closer to the mirror, and his hand slid, trailing a new red streak down the glass. He growled at his reflection.

_Yeah. Take that, you worthless bitch._

He hissed through clenched teeth when he realized that a new voice was nagging at his consciousness. He tried to not give in; he couldn't take hearing anything anymore.

However much he fought the voice, he sensed the noise permeating his brain, filling every crack and crevice there was. Unlike the others, this voice wasn't spiteful, degrading, or the horrible screeching. Instead, he relaxed as he found this to be the most sweet, soothing sound he could ever possibly imagine. The voice lulled him, quietly whispering sweet things in his ears, telling him to go to sleep, go to sleep and everything would be alright. Suddenly feeling as though each eyelid was weighed down, Karkat fought to keep his eyes open, even though there was nothing he wanted to see. The sound of a lilting piano waltz drifted in his mind, putting him even further at ease, though he couldn't quite remember why … that is, until he realized that the voice belonged to John. Karkat's breath hitched in his throat and forced his eyelids open; he suddenly desperately wanted to stay awake, to hear the heir's pleasant tone, to hear the sound he had missed for months.

The voice continued, quietly working its way through his muscles and bones, creeping down through his spine, soothing all his tension away with the honeyed words. For the first time in ages, Karkat felt at peace, despite what he had just done. Waves of John's tone rolled over his shoulders, releasing the pent up tension in the nerves, numbing his body. Karkat shivered involuntarily and heard the voice laugh with a sound like bells. The shivers and trembles in the voice ran down his blood splattered arms, quickly petering off at his elbows. Abruptly, the music stopped, as though the invisible pianist in his subconscious had been stopped or startled. The voice stopped and vanished for a cold moment; the quiet was no longer sweetened with relief, but syrupy slow in passing. It was a bitter thought, knowing that his dream had seen the cuts, seen what he did to himself, and was either scared or worse … pitied him.

There was no way Karkat would stand having someone pity him, having someone feel bad for him at all. He deserved this.

"_Karkat?"_ the voice began, "_What happened to you?"_

_It was me_, he thought back. _Who else would it be?_

"_W-why are you doing this? Why?" …_

_Because I deserve it. That's why._

The troll tried to lift his hand with the razor again, tried to put it back in his arm, but he was suddenly overcome with fatigue, and the bloodstained blade fell from his lax grip. A metallic ping rang through the room as the razor blade hit the countertop and bounced down to the floor. Two things happened at once; Karkat became aware of a wet feeling on his face and a new sensation beginning on his arms.

Red streams fell from the corners of his eyes, and he didn't realize that nearly this entire time, he had been crying, the tears silently leaving his face as one with the splatters from his arm. Now the diluted candy colour fell in drops, splashing on his arms and seeping into the skin. He frantically tried to wipe away the sheets of water suddenly pouring from his eyes, and only succeeded in smearing the blood and salty tears all over his face. He pressed the palms of his hands into his eyes, attempting to staunch the flow, but just cried harder and harder, making small hiccupping noises in his throat. The dreamy voice whispered in his ear only one word.

"_Why?"_

Karkat leaned against the wall and slid downwards, resting in a curled up ball on the floor. He let go of all chance to not break down and let his wails echo in the empty room. He buried his face in his arms, and sobbed. He let out all the sadness and hurt he had held in for months and months; all the times he had wished someone still cared about him, all the times he wished someone would talk to him, every single time he saw someone else happy, the times he had seen others hurt and not be able to do a thing about it, and every secret that he knew that was killing him. Every reason he was disgusted with himself poured out his eyes as faint red streaks on his face, dropping off and landing on the cuts.

"What have I done? …" he whispered softly.

"Why did I do that? What's wrong with me?"

On his skin, he felt ghostly hands trailing around his wrists, like he was being caressed by sheets of moving mist. Everywhere his skin was cut and bleeding, the hands touched, soothing the sting of the broken skin. The singing began again, wrapping its way through Karkat's mind, working with the touch of the cool palms to calm the boy down. Slowly, the bleeding and tears stopped, and the troll rinsed off the cuts, letting the frigid water wash off the slightly dried blood and clean out the gashes. He continued in a trance to wrap the bloody lines in white gauze, aided by the ethereal palms that helped him gently cover the evidence of his pain.

Ears still filled with piano notes, Karkat unhurriedly scrubbed the counter and mirror, getting rid of the last traces of the emotional episode. He toweled up the rivulets of crimson on the floor, nearly gagging with hatred and fear of the blood. The smell of copper was strong, and nearly made him vomit. Ever so slowly, the room looked more room-like, and less like a horror movie set.

Slipping out of the bloodstained clothing, the Cancer finished washing up, watching the last bit of proof swirl down the sink drain. Glancing upward, he saw the reflection in the looking glass, and calmly noted the puffiness of the bruise-like bags under his eyes, how red and agitated his eyes looked from the unexpected saltwater tears, the bruise around his eye that was beginning to purple. Looking back down, he got an eye full of the white bandages on his wrists. He was a mess. Karkat chuckled mercilessly.

_It's over …_

… _for now._

He tiptoed quietly to his room, even though there was no one to wake up. Sollux wasn't home yet, and he was alone. He unceremoniously dumped the soiled cloth on the floor and pulled a clean long sleeve tee-shirt and a pair of boxers on; a second later, he kicked the blood covered shirt under the bed. Later. He'd deal with it later.

Later, he _could_ deal with it.

Maybe.

Just not now.

Climbing under the sheets, Karkat sighed, curled up in a tight ball, and pulled the sleeve upwards to finger at the gauze on his wrists. Sleep began to take over, and he quietly hummed a lullaby he remembered Crabdad sang to him when he was younger, when he was kept up by the nightmares. But that was before the Game started. Before he lost everything. Before his whole world was turned upside down.

He stopped humming, and the silence in the dark room was deafeningly loud. Bringing up old memories, he thought, would only make him sad again, and he was sick of crying tonight. Sleep came again, threatening and daring the teen to pick one last thing to think about before he would have to shut his eyes for good that night.

Just before being rendered unconscious, Karkat thought about the one happy thing left in his train wreck of a life … John.

He smiled softly and drifted into a dream-less sleep.


	5. Grey

_AN: EXTREMELY sorry for slow update; I had absolutely no inspiration for this chapter, and I apologize greatly for the shitty Sollux characterization and most likely OOC Karkat. My brain has no clue for writing them. ;/ /w/ /;_

_- - SS_

* * *

><p><strong>Grey<strong>

* * *

><p>Rain tapped the window pane, a somewhat gentle pitter-pattering of a melody. A grey forehead pressed itself against the cold glass, only flinching slightly at the bitterly cold temperature of the window. A pair of yellow-gold orbs vacantly scanned over the crowds of people milling around downtown, twelve stories below him. The troll's nose snubbed itself against the glass pane, and his warm breath fogged the sheet of cold window in front of him. Washington's weather was rarely warm and sunny, but it didn't bother Karkat in the least. The grey skies gave him an excuse to almost never leave the relative safety of the apartment.<p>

The sound of keys in the lock sent Karkat scuttling off to his respite-block, not at all happy to see Sollux come home. If he happened to be personality One, it was alright to come out of the safety of the comforter and open the door he propped shut with the office chair; if Sollux was having an off-day, leaving him with personality Two, hiding was always a better option. It's not that the bipolar troll was in essence violent; it was the words that he used that put Karkat over the edge and made him want to do something. And by something, he meant add a new slice to the growing collection on his wrist. He had already had to open the flesh once that morning, following a particularly horrible nightmare about … he'd have preferred to forget.

"KK …" came a voice by the front door. "KK, are you here?"

Karkat didn't answer and kept absolutely still, hoping Sollux would give up and believe that he wasn't home.

"KK, I know you're here tho jutht come out already."

_Damn it._

"Hey fuckass." The Cancer barely poked his head out of the blanket.

"I thtill can't thee you, come out here." A thump was Sollux dropping his messenger bag by the door, wait three seconds and a faint jingle was the keys being tossed on the counter.

"Lazy fucker," The knight muttered, hauling his tired, sorry ass out into the hallway. Before facing his roommate, he double-checked that his sleeves were pulled down over his hands, scabs and cuts fully hidden from view. The tips of his claws were barely visible at the bottoms of the oversized sleeves; perfect. Grabbing the cuffs just to make sure they stayed down, Karkat entered the living room and was immediately pulled over onto the tiny couch and practically into the Gemini's lap. "FUCK! Sollux, get off me!"

"It'th not me on you, it'th you on me," giggled Sollux.

"Fuck. You. Fuck you into hell. Fuck you until your damn lisp corrects itself. Fuck, better have your little human sex toy do it for you, you insufferable bulge-sucker."

Pushing himself out of the mage's half headlock and out of that particularly awkward situation, Karkat sat up and glared death at the dichromatic lenses. He pulled his legs up and crossed his arms under his knees. Those sleeves were NOT going to get shoved up and screw over everything; he had gotten away with this for two weeks now, and Sollux being all touchy-feely one time wasn't going to get in his way.

"Hey, I thought we agreed, no feet on the furniture, Karkitty."

"No feet, but tools being fucked out of their minds, yes, you mean."

"Fine."

They remained like that for a few moments, just staring at each other. Suddenly, the duality troll sighed and flopped back against the opposite arm of the battered couch. The old metal springs creaked and squeaked in protest.

"Thpill it."

"What?"

"I thaid, thpill it."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over your fucking annoying-as-hell lisp. So Sollux, what the fuck were you 'thaying'?"

"Thut up, KK."

"Alright, I'm glad we had this waste of time chat, I'll be lea—"

"Fuck, no. You're not until you tell me whath been eating you for the lath two weekth."

_Shit shit shit he's onto me_, thought Karkat. He paused for a minute, then retaliated with a quick "Ew, Sollux, just ew."

"What the hell?"

"I'm not the manwhore here."

"Thit, KK, I didn't athk WHO'TH been eating you, what the he—"

He was cut off by Karkat continuing to rant on and on, attempting to look oblivious to Sollux's actual question.

"Well, I don't care if you fuckin' prefer a classier term. Manwhore, booty-call, community fuck-buddy, what - fucking - ever. You've sexed up every bitch or tool in this city – correction, on this planet. Or in this fucking, you know what? Fuck."

Sollux peered at the short, ranting, nub-horned asshole who was his roommate, currently sitting and fuming on the other end of the couch avoiding any meaningful question. He took a deep breath and rubbed at his temples; he felt a migraine coming on, and he didn't need Karkat to be complaining about being burned or zapped by the sparking psionic energy. He played along with KK's rant; he'd get him cornered eventually.

"Well, you haven't made a trip to the couch of love while riding my bulge, tho I gueth that counth one tool out."

"Oh shove Dave's dick up your nook."

"Will do, thankth for the tip."

"Oh FUCK THIS! I'm leaving. Thanks for wasting my time."

Karkat dropped his feet to the floor and stood up. Suddenly, he felt a burning pain in his right wrist and looked back to see Sollux grabbing the arm in both hands.

"Karkat, jutht tell me whath wrong."

The troll that was in actual physical pain turned his head away, and grit his teeth to keep from hissing at the sting. He enunciated each word, "There's nothing wrong, Sollux. Now let go."

"No, not until you tell me whath wrong."

"Well right now, you're stronger than you think and you're HURTING ME SOLLUX!" Karkat snarled in pain as the grip tightened. Shit, why did this hurt so much? It never hurt when or where the blade touched his skin.

The hands on his wrist stopped squeezing so hard, and he heard the couch whine once more as Sollux stood up. A palm left the arm and instead gently rested itself on the Cancer's shoulder. "I'm thorry for hurting you, but you need to tell me if thomething'th wrong, KK. I'm not a mind reader and you're not exthacly eathy to read."

"I swear nothing's wrong. Everything's _fine_." Fake calm dripped off of every word Karkat found himself spouting off.

"You're the wortht liar ever, you know that?" He could practically _hear_ the smirk in the Gemini's voice.

That did it. Karkat wheeled around, tearing his wrist out of the hand and jabbed a finger in Sollux's face, screaming "ALRIGHT! THAT'S IT! IF YOU CAN'T KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF ME AND SPLIT PERSONALITY IN CHECK, IT'S NOT MY FAULT, OK? It's also not my fault if you want to suddenly know EVERY – FUCKING – THING about my life after two weeks of ignoring me! I don't fucking care, got it?"

Sollux stood, mouth slightly agape in a stunned silence. Karkat's volume lowered as he went on.

"I don't give a single fuck, flying or not, who you go and play in fucktown with. You don't know the hell I've been dealing with for the last two weeks while you decided to forget I exist! Fuck, you can't even fucking BEGIN to wrap your hormone-soaked piece of shit you call a mind around the crap I've had to deal with. But you know what? I'm _FINE_. How many times do I have to fucking say it to get it through your thick think-pan?"

They stood there for a few seconds more, silence beginning to settle; Karkat took a few deeper breaths to catch up with his shouting. He shook violently, feeling like he needed to do something else to get the building anger out of his system. And that something needed to happen NOW. Sollux blinked a few times, before brokenly starting again. "KK …"

The knight's voice wavered between a harsh whisper and a normal volume. "Shut up, just shut up," came his harsh hiss. He turned and walked away, slamming the door to his respite block shut briskly behind a heel. He heard Sollux's running steps follow his to the door, and heard a knock.

"I-I'm thorry KK, I really am."

Hearing no reply, the duality troll timidly asked "Can I come in?"

"No, fuckass. No."

Sliding to a seat on the floor, Sollux smiled faintly. "Then I'll jutht thtay out here." He took the lack of a response as an indication to go on.

"I'm thad that you feel that way, KK, but I never meant to upthet you. The only reathon I did that wath becauthe I wanted you to know that thomeone giveth a damn. If you have a problem, you need to find a way to tholve it, and I jutht wanted to make thure you're alright." After a moment, he rose and slowly meandered back to the living room.

Sitting down on the couch, Sollux closed his eyes and listened. He stopped listening for a reply from his roommate and tuned into the hum of the building's pipes, the phony sound of canned laughter from a television down the hall, the whirring noise as people below him turned on air conditioning. The faint sound of a violin came from an unknown floor underneath his feet, and the louder thump of a sound system bass was from the room next door. His own breath counted _one, two, one, two_. Around half an hour later, he heard the slight squeak of the respite-block door opening and closing, the hiss of the water pipe, some shuffling in drawers, and the door squeak again. This sound filter was going to be as close to a clear mind he was going to get tonight, and Sollux opened his eyes and turned on the TV.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, in Karkat's room, things were going from bad to worse to so terrible he literally wanted to curl up and die in some hole of shit.<p>

He couldn't find any of the blades he had put in the secret hiding places of his room, and the voices kept shouting behind his ears making it too hard to think clearly. His sleeves were pushed up to around his elbows and kept flopping over the top few scars. _Hurry hurry hurry_ was the only complete thought that he could get coming through his head.

Tripping over a pile of discarded clothes that masked the corner of the bed, Karkat was sent sprawling over the floor and banged his head on the wall. He rolled a bit, and stared vacantly at the ceiling; he tried unsuccessfully to get up, but he couldn't move his body. His lungs felt like they were burning up and collapsing at the same time. His semi-bandaged wrists burned, feeling somewhat close to what he had imagined the Sufferer felt as he swore his way out of life. Only this time, it was not red hot irons around his arms; it was his own hate for his unbroken skin that lay on the limbs. The voices swirled around in circles, blending with one another, making him feel like he was being seen behind a closed door, scrutinized for something that could be picked at, prodded until a reaction was reached. He couldn't stop but couldn't do a thing at the same time. The chant of _hurry_ was replaced by the troll silently mouthing the words _shut up shut up shut up shut up_.

But the voices didn't stop; in fact, they grew in volume, covering everything else he could hear.

In reality, the room was silent, save for a few shifting noises of fabric on fabric and the sound of the walls settling.

In Karkat's head, all that was heard was a cacophony of sound, voices mixing and warping and cavorting through the neurons and synapses. He could hear nothing but the noise inside his head.

Where was a knife when he needed it? Why couldn't he think of a single blade he had hidden in the last fourteen days?

Suddenly, he could hear again. The voices had quieted for a moment, and he sat up, shaking his head in confusion. The feeling of a wet trail began creeping down his arm, numbing where a pair of his yellow claws dug into his own skin. _Oh yeah_, he remembered, _I forgot that I can practically fucking kill myself if I'm not careful_. After watching the blood bubble up out of his vein for a second longer, the claws were withdrawn, and he stood up, heading for the sink.

* * *

><p>Around three hours after the drama of Karkat's schizophrenic-style panic attack, which Sollux knew absolutely nothing about, both boys lay curled up on the couch in the living room, blankly watching a movie on television.<p>

Karkat could not tell what was going on in the Gemini's mind, as nothing was given but the blank stare that went right through the screen. Karkat himself was hardly on the same planet as his roommate; he was in the clouds day dreaming about a certain boy with blue eyes.

In a mind eye, the Cancer troll pictured the boy, how his skin was pale but almost always flushed from laughter, how his hair was such a dark brown it looked black until seen up close and how it fell flawlessly around his eyes, offsetting that blinding blue perfectly. The troll saw the image light up when the boy took off, leaving the ground behind by floating by on a cushion of air that he controlled. He saw the god tier hood stream out as the heir excitedly jetted himself across the sky, smiling as though the whole world could go to hell, as long as he could fly he'd be happy. Skipping a bit of his regular fantasy, Karkat let his mind go straight to the part of this dream where the boy would fly down, offer a hand to him and he'd take it, feeling the heartbeat through the heated fingertips. They'd lift off the ground, the cold air whipping around their bodies and blocking out the sound and sight of the world outside. The boy would take him in his arms, holding him close against his chest so he wouldn't be afraid of falling. As they climbed higher and higher into the sky, the checkered lines on the battleground below blurred away, leaving the pair alone in the clear atmosphere. The grey hands would cling tighter to the blue shirt and hood, and he'd hear a laugh and the arms around his back would tighten as well. He'd tilt his head up and a little to the right, just in time to feel …

Karkat waved a hand by his ear as if to brush away a fly, trying to fan away the imaginary thought bubble of the day dream. The other troll looked up, fixing a blue eye on the flailing teen on the opposite end of the couch.

A pair of steel irises caught the sneaky glance and replied with a curt grumble of "fucking bug."

The mage turned back to the television, watched for a few moments, lost interest in the movie, and went back to his private thoughts.

The knight let his thoughts roam back to the heir, immersing himself in the feeling of the dreams. He watched the boy of his dreams, absent mindedly flipping through the memories he had of the child; watching his life, meeting him for the first time, fighting Jack by his side, entering the Scratch, waking up by the human on his lawn on Earth. The angry part of his mind screamed at him, telling him that he should hate himself for this, for being so fucked up, and he did. The scars that he could feel on his wrists proved that. Now he loathed himself for falling in love, for feeling something he shouldn't be able to express. He absolutely detested the way that John could make him feel, but he couldn't help it. In the term that Rose had given him a headache with by saying it so many times, he was "head over heels in love" with John Egbert.

Well, fuck.

That complicated some things.


	6. How to Lie to the World

_A/N.. Oh shit. Fuck. I'm the worst person and biggest liar on this earth. Sorry about the random mini, six month-plus hiatus...to make up for it, take two chapters of fucked up shit..._

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><p><strong>How to Lie to the World<strong>

* * *

><p>Some dread school; the knowledge that they'll have to sit through endless hours of what they deem a hell is unbearable.<p>

Others enjoy it; they can find solace in an escape from the burdens they carry, if only for a few hours.

For some, it's a momentary distraction; they carry on whether or not it happens.

And for a choice few, it's all three and more.

* * *

><p>Some days, John could enter the imposing building labeled "Alternia-Bound High School" without as much as a thought. His uniform of choice covered most of the signs of his abuse, and he could walk down the halls without a glance backwards, shut the world and the thoughts that barraged him constantly outside the heavy swinging doors. The day would sweep him up like the wind currents he had grown so used to years before, place him in his classes and block out any thought of what was going to happen later that day, let him focus on the petty problems of the bacteria and lab cultures in Chem-Bio Honors or a passage's meaning in the book they were reading in English. Voices around him would only be a buzz as he made it through the day, just getting by.<p>

On a few days, he practically ran into the school doors in his hurry to get away from life. He dreaded hearing the final bell announcing that it was time to go back to what was a supposed reality. The loud chiming was the same frequency of the ringing of the mortuary bells, heralding that it was time to return to Dave's hold and submit. He despised leaving the relative safety of the halls, trying to think of things other than what sort of story he'd have to invent tomorrow to cover up a new bruise or gash mark.

Most days, however, John froze when the school gates came into view. They would see him, wouldn't they? They would see the marks of the manipulation and think he was disgusting, that he was some sort of freak. What if during a science lab, his jacket sleeve pulled up enough to see the gauze where he'd had to wrap a bloody bite mark? What if a trip in the hall sent him sprawling on his face, cracking open the not-quite-healed scars on his chest? What if someone could see the purple lines that wrapped his throat or the cut on the back of his neck? What if everyone saw the painful cringe when he jostled his sore ribs? The 'what if's never stopped pounding behind his eyes and ears, making him want to scream or be beaten just so they would stop making so much noise. They pinned him to the sidewalk and held him in place with icy cold fingers that stroked up and down his spine, turning any blood that wasn't fixing the numerous damages to his body into ice shards. His lungs split and couldn't hold any breath; the blue in his eyes shook and his pupils stretched open wide as he heard Dave's voice in his ears and mouthed many silent 'no's as the familiar hands felt over his dampened skin, tracing discolourations with mock tenderness and then pressing the hurts with harsh laughter.

Once or twice this feeling had caught up to the heir while he was doing something around others, and the same reaction would amplify by around eight. He had then collapsed and given into the oncoming panic attack, shuddering violently as his body racked itself in guilt and fear and lack of air. Many close calls had been evaded with stories about falling down the stairs and hitting himself with the door or not sleeping well the night before.

And all John could think while he told everyone lie after lie after lie was that he was growing sick and tired of it.

Sick and tired of feeling broken.

Sick and tired of feeling scared.

Sick and tired of feeling done for.

He knew that something had to break soon.

* * *

><p>Sometimes, Karkat could last the day without once feeling a too familiar urge. He could bear the tediousness of the flippant classes, the asinine waste-of-time that was talking to his moirail, and the bullshit that the human race tried to make him put up with, all the while the slippery feeling of his sleeves passing over healing scabs not bothering him in the least. A few times, this feeling would last him more than a day, marking a time when Karkat could be approached and not immediately want to kill whoever had shown up in his face. He may even get somewhat close to smiling, or, as close as the troll could manage without feeling like something was off. During these days, Karkat could almost pretend to be normal; just a regular Alternian teenager, dealing with trivial problems, not focusing on shutting out voices in his head and closing out suicidal thoughts. These days were few and far between.<p>

Quite frequently, a feeling would settle in on his hands and wrists, like the thin cloth of his long sleeves were burning him, as if he needed to tear them away and quench the fire with bright red drops. He would attempt to nonchalantly scratch at the bandages and raised lines of skin, trying to break them open through the fabric of the shirt. Other times, Karkat would ignore it as best he could, though he always ended up being far more irritable and crabby than usual to compensate for the pain and annoyance he was feeling. More often than not, this feeling led to him hiding in an unused closet on the third floor, breaking down and silently crying while he screamed at himself inside of his mind. That or he would end up in one of the shitty, disease-ridden bathroom cubicles, grinning as his claws or a razorblade made short work of a strip of skin, splitting it open and letting the mutant colour drip down his arm. It was always one or the other, and if he broke down, he would always skip the rest of the school day so he could go home and slit his wrists. Either way, it resulted in his skin coming open.

Sometimes, he would have to cut more than once a day. Horror-terrors would set him off like a bomb technician with an itchy trigger finger, and any time he woke with a start, his throat sore from screaming in his sleep, his first stop would be the bathroom sink. Karkat's backpack always had an empty Altoids tin with a razorblade and antiseptic in it, for the many times that the pressuring jeers of the voices pushed him over the brink while he was in class. The only thing that calmed the ever-present dull fear that someone would see the scars was to add another bloody line to the growing score; a vicious cycle of fright, paranoia, and unfelt pain was taking over his life.

The cycle repeated on and off, every day, week, or hour, and was beginning to overwhelm him.

Karkat was done with this bullshit excuse for living.

All of this was his fault anyway.

* * *

><p><em>So far<em>, John thought, _today has been alright_.

There had been no off-hand questions about any limping or wincing or the blood he hadn't seen on his cheek (which he immediately rubbed off after Rose had pointed it out). He had managed to avoid being sent to the nurse's office during P.E. when he had been knocked up-side the head with a ball and had been advised to check for concussion. He had even been able to play it off when Jade had accidently hurt him when she jokingly punched him in the arm for making a 'Jade ex furries' joke at lunch. She had laughed with him, so he knew she hadn't been mad, and there wasn't a guilty look on her face when he had grimaced lightly from the contact with her fist.

"John! Stop being so over dramatic!" she giggled, and he rolled his eyes playfully.

"Oh nooo! Must I face the wrath of Jade Harley with a face so straight it will rival the Striders'? To the death of me, then," he said with mock solemnity, and proceeded to flop over the table, offering Jade's plastic butter knife a clear shot of his neck.

Dave hauled him back upright and pulled him into his lap. The blonde cocked an eyebrow as he put his chin on top of John's scalp. "Are you sure you could ever even attempt to beat this face? It's like teaching a cat how to whinny like a horse in heat. That shit's impossible."

This sent Jade into peals of laughter, aided by Vriska coming up behind her and tickling her sides. "Heeeeyyyyy John!" she added, sliding into the seat next to the teen's sister. "Why hello, Missus Serket. I am about to be sent off to my death at the hand of the present Miss Harley while being held captive by our dear Strider. Would you object to this?"

"Hell no! Your princely musclebeast throne has grown a liiiiiiiittle too high for you," the Scorpio girl crowed. Terezi, who had been following closely behind her Scourge sister, bopped Vriska on the head with her cane. This was far from her usual cane drubbings that she gave out like ice cream, but it was effective in rendering her the center of attention. "Are you willing to stand up to that statement in the court of the legislacerators, Serket?" With a silly pretend beard stroking, Terezi continued; "If Miss Jade here was convicted of murder, and you her accomplice, her death sentence would be shared by you. Do you agree to these terms?" She retracted her cane and plopped into a seat by Dave.

Vriska's face became a mask of fake shock as she swooned away from the Supreme Justice of Her Court of Made-Up Law, crying out "Noooooooo. Why is it that I always have to die in your criminal cases?" Jade giggled and quipped "Then if death is the price, this crime will be uncommitted … not done … um, whatever. You guys know what I mean."

John wiggled his way back into his own seat, almost sighing in relief as his hidden wounds stopped protesting the feel of their inflictor touching them. He grinned, masking any relief as he finished the joke with "Thank god then. I am to be spared, thank the heavens!" Everyone but Dave laughed, because Dave never laughed; it was just an irrefutably known fact.

Lunch continued on, with the table being joined by Feferi and Aradia. The two girls had been in their strife class, and their hair was wet from when they had fallen into the pool on "accident". Gamzee had stopped by to say his casual "'Sup motherfuckers," before he saw Dave and glared as he shuffled away. Eventually, the topic of their idle gossip fell to dating, and Dave ruffled John's hair. Jade, Vriska, and Feferi all squealed in sync before they all looked expectantly at the pair. "What?" John asked before brushing off Dave's wandering hands and returning to his food. "You guys just make the CUTEST couple!" Feferi chirped, and Jade nodded. With his head hung, his bangs hid his face, and no one could tell that John's eyes had an expression that read 'are you all fucking idiots or something?'. He brightened his smile and faked a happy look before looking back up. "Yeah, I guess we look kinda cute together. 'S not that big of a deal guys," he said as he awkwardly shied away from Dave's hold.

Jade then asked "Hey, did you guys hear that Karkat's dating Sollux now?"

Despite the chatter of everyone around him talking, John stopped hearing. His brain decided to pipe up by saying "What? Karkat actually didn't fucking kill someone he liked? That's new." He then realized that he was talking out loud and saw everyone was looking at him. With an awkward chuckle, John glanced down at his lap and muttered "Well, it's true." He didn't know why hearing this had such an effect on him, but ever since that dream he had all those months ago, anything anyone said regarding Karkat set him off. The loud tone of the lunch bell saved him from further mortification at the hands of his brain's strange opinions. Vriska, Feferi, and the other trolls drifted off first, and Jade waited a little ways away to walk to class with John.

Dave was determined this time to get his boyfriend closer to him, and pulled John around and into a kiss. John practically frowned as he felt his captor's mouth pressed to his. He pushed Dave away and stood, directed away from the Time Knight, until Dave slung his arms around his shoulders. "Can you tell me why you've been so far off lately?"

"What are you talking about? We're practically stuck at the face twenty four seven."

"And you've still found a way to ignore me."

"Dave, just let me go. I'll see you later. 'Bye." John turned and satiated the Strider with a kiss on the lips and walked off to where Jade was leaning on a pillar. She gave him a sympathetic look and said "Dave sure is clingy isn't he?"

He nodded as they entered the school, headed towards the 300's wing of the building. "So how's everything going at the apartment?" Jade made a silly wink at him and he just gave her a blank look. "I mean how are you guys outside of school." She still had a very hopeful and comedic look on her face, as though she was about to learn the reason that a cow goes moo, or something equally funny and strangely relevant.

"Oh. We're fine."

"Fine? That's all?" She blocked his path, her eyes questioning him.

"Yeah, FINE, Jade. We are FINE." John rolled his eyes and walked around her. She spun on her heel and followed him. She reached up to tussle his bangs, and grinned. "Well, if you say so, I believe you John! What reason would I have not to?"

"Thanks, Jade," he whispered as she jogged off to meet Rose in front of their art class. His sister turned around and called back, "'Bye John! See you tomorrow!"

John continued on his way to his English class, stopping only once to readjust his glasses. While his feet were still on the linoleum of the hall, his thoughts drifted off into the clouds that a certain troll had begun to occupy as a full-time career. The heir was so busy day dreaming that he didn't notice a short, grey-skinned, and emotionally-distraught teenager running the opposite way until they met with a loud thud.


	7. How to Call a Bluff

_A/N: I suck._

* * *

><p><strong>How to Call a Bluff<strong>

* * *

><p>John clutched the back of his head from where he had been slammed down into the tile on impact with a solid body. <em>Damn, it's the second time today you've been hit in the head; maybe you're just asking for it,<em> he thought. Sitting up slowly, he sadly looked up to see who he had run into and hopefully apologize for this happeni-

Speak of the troll himself.

* * *

><p>"What the fuck?!"<p>

Karkat spluttered, flailing at whoever had decided to get in his way. See, this was the reason he hated – scratch that, ABHORED – this school. Hell, the entire fucking human race. For the one reason of everything was in the way of something – in between him and the blade, and him and potential happiness, him and anything else he could think of.

He had never been one to look forward to school; the idea of giving up almost a third of his day that could be spent doing something worthwhile to sitting in a prison-like compound full of idiots never had really appealed to him. And with his added growing addiction to the metal that let him bleed, everything was so much worse than it usually was. Every single day was worse than the one before. Regardless though, Karkat found a small piece of him who had been missed by the cancer of his self-loathing and instead because infected with a strange disease of affection looking forward to, even hoping and longing for, the school bell ringing. It was then that he could let his eyes fall upon the forbidden territory of blue eyes and a smile that was slightly off center but made his heart squeeze in all the right ways. He couldn't help but anticipate a class where those eyes lit up and laughed from the inside out, and he could feel a fraction of a percent better knowing that somehow, something was good in this world.

But for a while now, every smile had been false, and the eyes that used to shine fell dull to the floor, defeated and forlorn. Karkat wished he could get the courage to say something, anything, even just a hello to lift the gaze from the floor, though he never did. He could never force his feet to stand firm on the floor enough to take the three and five steps it would take to cross that small expanse between their tables in class; every time he'd try, it'd be like stepping into the ocean and sinking below the surface. Damn near impossible and terrifying as fuck. Karkat instead stuck to quietly standing by and hating himself because nothing he was too big of a coward to even try to help. This hatred of his own cowardice only added to the ammunition of the voices in his head, and they played it well.

That very thought was held as the reason that Karkat was now running down the hall, trying to get away from the class he shared with his quiet obsession, away from the chance to say something when he collided with a student.

He opened his mouth the shoot a cutting remark at the intruder that caused him to fall flat on his ass, but it died horribly when he opened his eyes to the owner of deep blue eyes and a broken smile. John looked at him, shocked, and Karkat stared back, equally surprised. His wrists burned as he scrambled for purchase on the floor as to get up, eventually found it and stood quickly. Before he knew it, Karkat was down the hall, leaving behind a stunned Egbert behind; he cringed mentally when he realized he hadn't even said sorry. The voices crowed and jeered, and he barked at them in his head to shut the fuck up. _Great_, he thought, _your first words to him in over three months and they're already yelling at him. You useless excuse for a civilized troll…_

It only took a moment, but he locked himself in the last bathroom stall on the second floor, and the red dripped from his eyes and veins.

Bandaging just as quickly as he cut, Karkat scrubbed fiercely at his eyes, wiping away the tears that had yet to fall. "You're disgusting," he swore to himself, trying to ignore the way his voice faltered in the middle as he wrapped his newest slice. There was no way he was going back to English this late; everyone would stare at him. Oh well, cutting class was always an option these days, and he snuck out of the campus by slipping out behind the stadium. The apartment building was oddly quiet as he took the stairs up to the apartment, and the room was so silent, it was deafening. Slinging his bag into the corner, he did everything he could to distract himself from thinking, because his thoughts bombarded him with ideas to talk to the one whom so entertained his fancy. And by that, he meant to talk to John.

Karkat eyed his computer warily, and eventually drifted over to it, opening the laptop with a sigh. His cursor seemed to place itself over the Trollian app that had sat unused for months on the edge of his screen, and he debated whether or not to click it, but decided it would be better if he did. On a burst of conviction, the window sprang to life, logging him in like normal. No one's names were lit up, and he thought himself stupid to even think that anyone would still use this old client, until a deep blue name lit up and sat foremost at the top of his list. At first he mistook it for Vriska, looking for more idiots to manipulate, and considered to logging out to avoid her bitchiness, but then realized that the initials didn't match up. Instead, a chat window popped up and he sat shocked once more.

Looks like John beat him too it.

* * *

><p>Sitting stunned, John almost didn't notice that Karkat had gotten up and ran onwards down the hall. Grabbing his stuff as fast as possible, he turned to look for Karkat, but the troll had disappeared in the crowd. Hurts forgotten, he continued to his class in a daze, unable to focus on the anything but his fleeting brush with the Cancer's face, shocked and irritated.<p>

The final school bell snapped John out of his reverie, and he slowly braced himself for the sight of Dave outside the classroom door.

"Hey," he mumbled and accepted Dave's kiss and fingers lacing through his, guiding him towards the gates. Dave and he chatted idly as they walked through the parking lot, eventually reaching the edge of the campus where they parted with promise to meet later. John quietly said good-bye and began his stroll home.

"Wow," he said, musing aloud to himself, "you're only 17 and you're already in a fucked up relationship with a guy you're not even sure you love anymore. You don't know who you're in love with, and you're sick of it. You've already passed the levels of teen angst that are normally written about by thirteen-year-old's. Jeez." Shifting his bag to ease up the pressure on a bruise, he continued his mumbled talking to himself, kicking a stone into the gutter. The door was unlocked when he reached home, and his dad's greeting to him came muffled from the kitchen. John called back and took the stairs two at a time and hurried to his room. He made short work of his homework and logged into his computer client. The Pesterchum icon had lain useless on his desktop for a while, but now it blinked with the logging in of one of his chums. Clicking open the roster, the grey handle that had been blanked out for almost 7 months now was online, and impulsively thinking, he clicked on it. The chat window that opened sat bare on his screen, and he suddenly wanted to abort this reach for Karkat.

His fingers typed the message without thinking.

* * *

><p>- ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] at 15:03! –<p>

EB: hey


End file.
